


Behold It Unveiled

by fannishliss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, Women of Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 16:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  Hael made the Grand Canyon. What would she like to do now?</p><p>Hael from 9.1 I think I'm gonna like it here</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behold It Unveiled

**title: Behold It Unveiled**  
fandom: Supernatural  
author: [](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/)**fannishliss**  
1500 words  
rating/genre: Gen  
series: Women of Supernatural  
spoilers: SPN 9.1  
Characters: Hael from Supernatural 9.1, Castiel

Summary:  Hael made the Grand Canyon. What would she like to do now?  
Author's notes: This is a work of fiction. Hael and Castiel belong to _Supernatural_. ([Partial 9.1 transcript here. ](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/167991.html))  
Any resemblance to any other  supernatural entities, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

 

 

Prayer for Artists and Musicians from the Book of Common Prayer (Episcopalian):  
 _O God, whom saints and angels delight to worship in heaven:_  
Be ever present with your servants who seek through art and music  
to perfect the praises offered by your people on earth;  
and grant to them even now glimpses of your beauty,  
and make them worthy at length to behold it unveiled for evermore...

 

Hael was an artist.  As an Angel, she was designed by God and breathed by her Father into being, perfectly suited for the Work for which she was intended.

Hael was a sculptor.  Rock was her medium.  Wind and rain and time were her tools.  She was created to unveil the beauty her Father had woven into the rock.  It took concentration.  Hael watched in joy as her Work took shape, as she helped reveal the numberless layers of red and ochre and yellow and gold and rose and brown, so many beautiful hues, numberless only because it was not her task to count them.  It was hers to carve, to wield the inexorable forces of air and water against stone, until stone at last yielded up its arches and spires in praise to her Father.  Hers was good Work.  When the humans came and looked on what she had made, she felt their souls resonate, singing with awe, as they instinctively recognized how the glory of Creation reflected the glory of its ultimate Creator.

Hael rejoiced and spread her wings in praise, glad that she had fulfilled her purpose.

In Heaven, her Work continued in miniature.   The human souls multiplied.  They filled the architecture of Heaven with their happiest, most beautiful memories.  Hael enjoyed their tiny lives filling Heaven, like bees filling a comb with honey.  Some of the human souls even brought fragments of her own Work with them to Heaven, and she helped them recreate those shining moments, the best of who they'd been, by perfecting their memories of her great Work.

Hael was a daughter of God, an artist.  She had done her Work, and done it well.  She was no Archangel, designed to look on the face of her Father.  She was never meant to feel the ache of the loss of his presence.  When that little ache began to dull her grace, it discomforted her.  She did not know what to do with it.  She offered her praise to her Father as she had always done, through the Work.  She polished the human's memories until they shone, glowing from within with all Hael knew of her Father's glory.

Until, over time, even Hael's memory of His glory began to dim.

When had she last felt the warmth of His regard?

When had her wings last stirred with His breath, His lifegiving magnificence?

When had her grace last thrilled to His approval?  She remembered basking in the reverberations of His orders —  bringing energy and mass out of nothing, light and form out of chaos — His mighty acknowledgement that as His children Worked to carry out His orders, IT WAS GOOD.

Hael was not a Seeker.  She was not a Watcher or a Warrior.  She was no great Power, much less a Principality.  She was certainly no Throne.  Hael had been designed to strip things down to their essence, to pare away dross, to cleanse away the dirt to reveal the eternal beauty of perfected form.

Hael did not presume to question the Work of other Angels.  As far as she knew, all Angels performed the Work that God intended.  How could it be otherwise?

When Michael and Lucifer began their feud, how could it be other than the will of her almighty Father?

When Watchers and Cupids came together, to manipulate the bloodlines of humans, and Warriors went to orchestrate human destinies, was it not GOOD?

All things Work to the GOOD of the Father:  these were the words of God that had brought her into being, and to doubt them was anathema to her very existence.

So when the Warrior Castiel began to speak of Free Will, Hael did not doubt that he was part of God's eternal plan, though she herself had not felt the power of God's almighty hand since before she completed her Work on Earth.  Even with the overthrow of the Archangels, and the release of the Leviathan, Hael felt secure in God's plan.  Her mighty Work on Earth endured, and humans poured into Heaven every day, glowing with its awesomeness.

Hael remained a dutiful Angel, doing all she had been designed to do, even as her brothers and sisters fell in a war she had no way to understand.

Until, one day, everything went dark, and she was falling, and she felt her wings burning horribly to cinders.  Falling, she felt her grace diminish as Heaven emptied of Angels, as they were torn from their Work and diverted from their God-given Purpose.

Wounded and lost, no wings to take her Home, she circled, terrified, her very being at odds with this existence outside the Work she'd been given to do.

She had never taken a vessel; none were prepared for her — she had manifested her Work while remaining a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent. The Angels around her were screaming, just as terrified as she was, and many were roaring the name of Castiel.

Castiel —she had met him in Heaven — a very strange Angel.  Warrior  - Watcher -  Principality -  Power — Castiel was all these things at once. His Work was a great Mystery to other Angels.    Hael had never seen a grace so complex, so incomprehensible.  As an Artist, Hael was a minor Power.  Meeting Castiel, she had resonated with his desire as a Power to effect change to the glory of the Father, even as his abilities to fight, to understand, to learn and plan evaded her.   IT WAS GOOD, she knew down deep in her grace, even when she could not understand the other resonances of his Work that shaped and filigreed the intricacies of his grace.

Falling, terrified, lost, she felt him near, and she flailed herself toward him as best she could without the vanes of her Angelic mission, magnifying her intent with the rapidly dwindling strength of her grace alone.   The girl, at her morning devotions, opened obediently. Hael felt confined and strange inside the girl.  Hael had been at one with the power of the storm or the rushing river, the wind and the aeons of time. This small girl was so fragile, already burning away, her obedient soul dazzled and battered as Hael took up residence inside her.

Hael saw Castiel — saw with human eyes.  She spoke to Castiel, in English, using the human tongue.    She heard her brothers and sisters clamoring for him and called it as he had, "Angel Radio."   She did not wish to call attention to Castiel, not yet, not until she understood whether he could ease her confusion and fear.  Even one word of Enochian, the language God had given them for shaping the things of Earth, would ring out with her Power, alerting other Angels.

Hael thought, at first, that her human eyes deceived her.  But quickly, she took in the terrible truth: Castiel's grace was gone.  Yet, he still lived.  Somehow, he still felt his Purpose.  Somehow, he still believed himself to be an Angel — without wings, without a grace — but if he still had Work to do, it might be GOOD.  It might be.  It might.

It—

Suddenly, the treacherous Warrior wrecked the truck, propelling her fragile girl through the windshield, shattering her body against the ground.

As she struggled to move the broken vessel and it would not, Hael was filled with a rage she had never before known.

Why had he broken her?

Why did he deny her the glory of her Work?

Was he such a thing, so twisted in his making, that he still believed, graceless, wingless, less than human, he could be of assistance to Angels — when she, Hael, had sought him out, gone along with him, and thought to share a little of her Power to help him survive?

Hael was an artist — she could have helped him perfect his praises, she could have helped him unveil his purpose —  she could have pared away his dross until he came in line with their Father's plan —

She still could, yes? Unless, unless he left her there, diminished, in a shattered vessel — would he, really, abandon her, with the implacable coldness of a Watcher, when she'd thrown in her lot to protect him from the wrath of the hosts of Heaven?

If only he would open his heart to her —

that terrible, God-given heart that began to complicate and re-Work every Angel he came near —

open up his awful heart —

let her in — unveil his Mystery —

take away her pain and fear and uselessness and rage and share with her his intricate Purpose —

say Yes --

 


End file.
